Seven
by lloydbanks
Summary: Donnie and Smitty's relationship could be summed up nicely by the seven deadly sins.
1. Chapter 1

_LUST_

Sicily had been good for Donnie; he had more or less found his calling. He was good at taking lives, better than anything else he'd ever done. Even beauty school had taken effort, but this must have been some kind of god given talent. The guns felt perfect, the knives felt even better and the fear in his enemy's eyes sent little warm tinglies into his stomach. Aldo and Donnie spent most of their Sicilian 'vacation' in each other's company. They talked about the war, Hitler, home. Aldo told Donnie all about his apache ancestry and in turn, Donnie told Aldo about being Jewish.

"Oh-kay, here's one: what would you do to Adolf if you could git your big 'ol hands on him?" Aldo asked while they strolled through an abandoned field one rainy afternoon.

Donnie stopped walking for a minute to push the wet hair back, out of his eyes. "No one's ever asked me that before."

"Well, I suppose it's 'bout time someone did."

"I would do things a man should never say out loud Lieutenant. Terrible things." Donnie looked the picture of contemplation but for a little smile playing on the corner of his lips.

When Aldo had been given his new mission, he knew there was only one Staff Sergeant up for the task, only one man in the whole world he wanted to help him choose some soldiers and run 'em across France.

Aldo and Donnie had hand picked these boys, spending hours poring over files in order to find the eight most ruthless, most angry, and most Jewish soldiers in the United States Armed Forces.

Donnie could clearly remember reading the file of Pfc. Smithson Utivich through the fog of other soldiers. The 23-year-old kid from Manhattan who had been psychologically profiled four separate times for "repeatedly describing in detail his eagerness to mutilate the bodies of deceased Nazi soldiers." Without even asking his lieutenant, he put Smitty's file in the pack marked _Aldo's Jews._

Smitty had always fascinated Donnie. Even now, he sat watching the smaller man scalp the Krauts, the smell of dirt, sweat, cold and iron wafting into his nostrils. He paid close attention to the way Smitty's hands never shook as he made the near surgical incisions, which always separated his scalps from the rest. So different from the maniacal way Donnie's hands trembled with a bat in them.

Smitty could feel someone watching him, a skill that developed quickly in the French countryside. He finished his work to look up and lock eyes with his Staff Sergeant. Now he would never be considered conceited but he had a talent to read people better than most. He could tell by the enlarged pupils, wet lips, slight grin and raised eyebrow that the Bear Jew had been watching him for a while and was… _affected_ to say the least.

This sort of thing was not uncommon between the Basterds. France got cold at night and sometimes what started as huddling for warmth beneath thin blankets seamlessly merged into fighting for breaths between harsh kisses. Generally, these private power struggles were kept to the people involved but he'll never forget the day the whole crew walked in on Stiglitz with a mouth full of Wicki behind some trees after an ambush. No one said a word and the crazy fucking German didn't even pause but that day, they all gained a quiet understanding that maybe the countryside didn't have to be so lonely after all.

Smitty, decided in that second to tempt fate. He had, several times, woken up in the dead of night, sweaty and hard, dreams of Donnie's weight on him replaced by Kagan's snores, Hugo's muttering and the biting French air. Without breaking the electric stare they had formed between them, Smitty jammed his knife straight into the forehead of the dead German in front of him, making Donnie forcibly exhale the breath he'd been holding in. "Going to wash up, sir." Smitty said quickly before rising slowly to his feet and turning to walk towards the river behind the camp.

Donnie watched Utivich walk until he disappeared behind the trees and then got up, not checking to see if anyone was looking, pulled the private's knife out of the Kraut fucker's forehead and followed him down to the river sporting a colossal hard on the whole way.

Smitty was knelt down on the riverbank, shirt off, washing the blood off his arms when Donnie found him. "You might wanna clean this too." He dropped the private's knife at his feet. "When did you get so fuckin' angry anyways?" Donnie took a seat on the grass to the side of where Smitty was scrubbing his palms and began unlacing his heavy boots.

"Probably about the same time you and the rest of the boys did, I expect."

"You fuckin' smartass." Donnie chuckled under his breath, throwing a boot and narrowly missing the little man's bare back. "I meant the private, why'd you knife him?"

Smitty stopped scrubbing and turned to look at the other man. "Don, he spit on your shoe and called your mother a filthy Jew whore."

"Yeah, I was there. I also beat the life out of him." Smitty moved to sit beside him, close enough to feel the heat off Donnie's arm and smell his intoxicating mix of sweat and musk. "They always say shit like that, why's that one so special?"

"He wasn't." The tips of Smitty's fingers brushed Donnie's so lightly he swore it could have been wind but for the electric shock that shot directly into his stomach. "I wanted to make you feel better, that was one of the only ways I knew how."

Donnie would never fully understand what possessed him to say what he did to Utivich but the next thing out of his mouth was, "Not bad. What else you got?" And before he knew it, Smitty's soft mouth came crashing into him like a freight train.

The rest was a rush; a shoving match for dominance (which Donnie won handedly), teeth drawing blood from lips, nails dragging across skin, fingers leaving tiny bruises in their wake.

Smitty struggled in vain to ignore the butterflies, which had set up camp in his stomach and likewise, Donnie tried to block out the _fuckingincredible_ way Smitty moaned his name. "Fuck, Donnie." Like he was some kind of god.

They probably could have walked away and convinced themselves that it was nothing more of it than a hurried fuck based on impossibly high levels of testosterone if it weren't for what happened next.

Donnie knelt in between Smitty's legs, cock in hand, poised and ready to go. Unable to hold in any longer, he pushed in slowly and felt Smitty's hot tight world swallow him whole. He would have drilled the little man like a jackhammer if it hadn't been for the tiny whimper that escaped his lips. Donnie locked eyes with him in time to see a small tear fall down his temple.

He could feel the boy tensed around him and in the most unselfish move of the Bear Jew's life, he pulled out, and bent down to kiss Smitty. Once on the forehead, once on the wet path his tear had made, and once on the cheek before resting lightly on his lips. Donnie's mouth moved over slowly until his breath burned against Smitty's ear. "I'm gonna make it better, trust me."

This time, when Donnie pushed in he was met with a more welcomed sound. "Feels good now don't it? I knew you'd like that. So tight, feels fuckin' unreal." Donnie's hand moved between them to grasp the surprising length of Utivich. He began pumping his fist in rhythm with his hips and before long he heard a strangled cry and felt Utivich tighten around him. Only then, biting down into Smitty's shoulder to keep quiet, Donnie allowed the stars to explode behind his eyes in a way he didn't know had been possible.

Neither of them said too much in the aftermath, hurrying to get dressed and get back to camp for the night. Smitty walked over to where Donnie sat lacing up his boots. "I hope you sleep a little better tonight." He turned and started walking away before he heard Donnie's voice calling him.

"Smitty."

"Yea?" He turned to look at his sergeant's face in the dying light of the sunset.

Donnie's eyes flickered from his eyes to his mouth and back up again before he responded. "Nothin'."

Smitty could swear that for the first time in his life, Donnie Donowitz may actually have been blushing.


	2. Chapter 2

SLOTH

Donnie had a lot of respect for the Basterds, every last one of them. Sure, he'd say he wanted to beat Stiglitz' accent out of him, tell Hirschberg he knows the kid's still a virgin even with all his big man talk and punch Kagan in the gut when he'd start cryin' about his Ma, but he sure as fuck respected 'em all.

It took him a long time to figure out that what he felt for Smitty went a little further than respect. Donnie used to call him Smithson sometimes just to get a rise out him but that died off the second Donnie found out there are much better rises to be found from Utivich.

Things had changed in the days after they had been together. No one took too much notice of it, but you could see it if you looked hard enough. Aldo started to see things, watching out for the men was part of the job description. It was always small stuff, shit that didn't matter. Like they only bunked with each other, especially after Donnie damn near killed Omar for getting a little too close to Utivich in his sleep, yellin' some shit about bein' a queer and then gettin' all up close to him, closer than Omar had been if you asked anyone else, but of course, no one asked.

Then there was the herculean way Smitty could calm Donnie down when he got a little too out of control, when everybody else was afraid to be within bat's length. His hand would rest in the curve between Donnie's shoulder blades, rubbing up and down gently while he whispered something lost to the other men but to which Donnie would nod and smile and be back to normal in no time. _Just breathe cher, we've still got each other right? _

Everyone noticed a little more the first time Smitty got shot. The second that bullet hit his shoulder, Donnie snapped. He didn't even bother leaving anyone alive for questioning. No one said a word, just watched him unload on the Germans and shot anyone who got close to him. He saved the man who pulled the trigger for last, walking up slowly, face drenched in sweat and hands dripping with blood, bone and brains.

"You shouldn't have done that." His voice was so low and calm that it set even the Basterd's teeth on edge. He wasn't making a threat, he was stating a fact.

"Please, my friend. I shall tell you what you want to know. Anything." The German man pleaded in broken English.

Donnie lifted his bat and forced the man's head to look at Smitty clutching his shoulder while Wicki tried to tend to the wound. "You almost stole something very important to me. You should not have done that."

Realization flooded the German's face and a steady, overwhelming blush crept its way up his neck. "Please sir, I have wife, fat with baby, you understand… please."

"Well, when she decides she wants her revenge, we'll be waiting in Boston." The words left his mouth carrying the heavy weight of certainty; no amount of hesitation. Utivich was the only one who watched Donnie end the German; everyone else silently observed the contented pleasure that settled over Smitty's features through his grimace of pain.

They didn't talk about it for a few weeks; Smitty was always half scared he had dreamed the whole thing. He had tried to bring it up casually one night but he made the mistake of starting with "Listen, Donnie, remember the day I got shot…"

Donnie just went real quiet and traced his fingers along the edges of the wound healing slowly on Smitty's shoulder. His lips replaced his fingers and he mumbled lightly into Smitty, "I don't want to talk about that."

The air became thick all of a sudden as Donnie's tongue burned a path from Smitty's collarbone, all the way up his neck. "Donnie… I think we should… talk- " His words were muffled as Donnie's mouth engulfed his, teeth scraping against lips and biting away any further protests.

Donnie rolled over on his back, pulling Smitty on top of him. These days they could afford to take their time; the other men gave them breathing room, no one wanted to interrupt and that served as it's own small luxury. They pushed against each other like horny teenagers fighting for any amount of release, holding in sounds dying to escape into the biting French air. Utivich reached between them and freed them both from the constraints of their itchy wool pants, allowing for skin-on-skin ecstasy. This was always the part Smitty lived for, when Donnie started to get mouthy. "Jesus fuck… so soft… mm just like that… so much better…"

Smitty's hand stopped dead, "So much better than what?" He was panicking like he always did, picturing Donnie with Omar and Kagan and Wicki. They had never talked about what this was and what it meant and that always set Smitty on edge, scared to loose something he wasn't sure belonged to him.

"The fuck are you talking about? Come here." Donnie, being roused from his intoxicating contact pushed up against Smitty again, garnering a groan from the younger man. His hands tangled in Smitty's hair and pulled back sharply, exposing his perfect white throat to Donnie's ever-eager mouth. They rolled over with the full weight of the Bear Jew pressing on to Smitty as his lips and tongue burned a white-hot path down to Utivich's ever-impressive dick. While it was difficult to ignore the potential implications of what Donnie had said, it was damn near impossible to ignore the blinding pleasure of his never-ending tongue and hollowed cheeks.

Smitty's head always seemed clearer in the aftermath, like all that built up lust had clouded his thoughts and judgments. He sat up, no longer able to contemplate sleep until he had the answers he needed. He kicked the back of Donnie's leg, forcing the older man to sit up and face his lover. "What, you wanna go round two pretty boy?"

Donnie's hands were already making their way under Smitty's jacket before he could protest. "Stop, Donnie just …stop for a minute. Better than what?" Smitty was studying his face, watching for any movement, any sign of the words to come.

The sound of distant snores and wind rustling through the trees, those were the only responses he was allowed while Donnie took time to collect his thoughts, hand rubbing at his heavy eyelids. "Believe me kid, that's not a conversation we want to have right now."

The ground under Smitty suddenly felt less solid, like if he moved even an inch he would fall right through. "That's not a decision you get to make by yourself. You need to tell me what's going on. Right now."

Donnie closed his eyes and breathed deep, memorizing Smitty's scent like this would be the last time he ever could. He had hoped they would never have to have this conversation, like maybe he'd get lucky and die before this ever came up. He figured, hell maybe if the kid left him, he could arrange for some kind of mass murder-suicide and take a shit-load of Nazi's with him, how hard could it be? But the kid was right, it wasn't his secret to keep anymore."Better than…" He swallowed the bile rising in his throat as he pictured Smitty walking away from him, from them. "my wife."

It could have been minutes, maybe hours that passed while Smitty sorted through this in his head. _Wife._ He noticed that his mouth had become dry, breathing laboured and erratic, hands sweaty and cold all at once. He looked up at Donnie for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, "Wha- um, what, what's her name?"

Donnie shook his head lightly, "Does it really matter?"

"I-I don't know, maybe. Does it?"

Donnie, resigned to the fate of the situation at hand, opted for full disclosure, that's what he would want after all. "Her name is Ada Meir. She grew up next door to us and we used to be friends. She was always following my older brother around, absolutely worshiped him. He died before this all started and I don't know, I guess we both figured it would be the best option for everyone. It um, didn't work out so well. I was never good enough for her… I wasn't him. When I left, she moved in to my parent's house and we all accepted the fact that I would probably never come back. I've never written to her, don't think she'd read it even if I did."

"You said… to the German, you said 'we'll be waiting in Boston'…" He seemed shell shocked, not quite registering anything fully.

"Kid, I was just running my mouth, I was pissed."

"You didn't mean… me. Ada, she'll-" He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of thoughts, "…you'll be waiting in Boston." For the first time in his life, Smitty felt the burn of jealousy and real hurt in the pit of his stomach. He was thrust out of his own disturbed little fairytale, no longer allowed to believe that Donnie was somehow a part of him, only him. He stood, careful to ignore the nausea building up and shook his head, trying with all he had left to shed the images forming in his brain and instead shedding unintentional tears. "I need to be, um, not with you right now."

He broke the silence as he watched his heart begin to walk away, "We'll be waiting in Boston… Smitty, that was about you." Donnie had, after all, decided on full disclosure.


End file.
